


One More Chance

by PhelfromGrace



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack Treated Seriously, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, ExtraordinaryYou!AU, F/M, Humor, Postmodernism, Romance, Rose Tico Deserved Better, a trip down meta lane, includes some drawings, weird fix-it for TRoS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhelfromGrace/pseuds/PhelfromGrace
Summary: Rose becomes disillusioned and decides to bite the hand of destiny, to defy its narrative. General Hux wasn’t the ally she deserved— oh, she deserved so much better— but he was the ally that she unfortunately needed.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

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_Do you remember that day?_

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_I do._

_I’ll never forget how it killed my hope._

_It came out of nowhere_

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_and left me confused_

  


  


_Numb_

  


  


_Empty_

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


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_I’m not sure if I’ll ever get over it, but it doesn’t matter anymore._

_I’ll take what I can from this garbage and make it my own. I’ll save what I can. I'll find meaning._

  


_Because I refuse to fall into despair._

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_Neither should you._

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	2. I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original concept goes out to the brilliant webtoon 어쩌다 발견한 하루 (July Found by Chance/ How I found it in July), also adapted into a kdrama called ‘Extraordinary You’. The webtoon is BEAUTIFUL and highly recommended if you like romance and the theme of agency. This fic is by no means a beat-for-beat adaption; I’ve only taken the basic concept because the parallels are uncanny. 
> 
> It’s my love letter to Rose Tico and to fandom. Enjoy!

** 

The air on Ajan Kloss felt thick, thicker than ever before, a quality that made it difficult to breathe, a feeling Rose Tico knew too well as a child who was born and raised on Hays Minor where one would suffocate in less than a minute if caught outdoors without protection. But where her icy homeworld held no atmosphere, no life, this temperate land overflowed with it, with its flowing rivers, lush greenery, wildlife, lively people and boisterous laughter; like right now, over there, her engineering team yapped away and clanked on the starfighters they were tuning up. 

So much bustle and energy. So much life. But so little air.

Rose ripped off a brown leather glove and rested her quivering hand at her throat. In and out. She inhaled and exhaled, slowly. Was the air always this humid, this dense? She would have sworn that it was never this difficult to breathe. She always appreciated this planet, this new life, where there were no barriers between interior and exterior. Where she didn’t have to worry about an oxygen supply or the air filtration system failing. Where she had the freedom, to breathe.

Maybe all the stress was finally getting to her, except she could not quite recall her immediate past. She knew they were preparing ships for war against the despicable First Order, that was obvious; she just couldn’t remember the little things, like what she ate that morning or who she spoke to last. So strange. She prided herself on her sharp mind; she was good at remembering things, even the mundane. Why couldn’t she remember?

The high energy of her team pounded at her temples, and the onset of a headache loomed. Maybe a walk in the forest would help clear her thoughts.

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose. 

Then her eyes darted left and right, and fell on… _Snap?_ Snap Wexley. And trees, lots of them. They were in the forest. Her legs moved on automatic, walking over moist soil and fallen leaves. 

What in the F— what just happened? 

A second ago, she was at her repair station with her team, thinking about taking a break. Now, she was walking in the forest. Stars, did she just _teleport?!_

Teleportation. The concept has been discussed in tech circles, but even the First Order has not achieved such a feat. She didn’t recall wearing any device or pressing any button before she suddenly appeared here, in the forest, next to Snap of all people. Then again, she couldn’t recall much anyway, so maybe the lapses in her memory were due to overexertion after indeed creating a lightweight, effectively invisible, device with the capabilities of corporeal teleportation. 

Or, it _could_ explain her memory loss entirely. In quantum teleportation, the original arrangement of a quantum state could only be extracted and reconstructed into a teleported state if, and only if, it was destroyed. Did something… go wrong? Maybe she didn’t achieve a perfect identical copy of her cells as it was transported into this new location. Maybe some information was lost in the process. Scary. She must have been insane to create and test such an invention. Or a genius. This would shift the tide of war if they could bypass First Order space through teleported means. They could go anywhere, access everything. Get the Resistance word out. Steal ships, supplies. They could _win._

A twig cracked beneath her boots. Rose stopped in her tracks, looked up, and met the frightened hazel eyes of Rey. 

“How much of that did you hear?” Rey asked.

“Of what?” Snap answered.

“Nothing.”

Why was Snap even with her? If she teleported to take a break from her team, it would make more sense to do it alone. Well, visiting Rey, that wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary. But with Snap? Downright strange.

_You okay?_

No, she wasn’t. This teleportation issue required further investigation. She also needed to see Leia and tell her about her potential breakthrough, minus the annoying lapses in her memory, a detail that surely could be fixed with time.

“You okay?” she asked Rey, surprised at how the question tumbled from her lips.

“Yes, of course, I was just doing…”

_Jedi stuff._

“Jedi stuff.” 

“Yeah.”

Wait. That was _not_ her inner voice. The sound was identical to her own, but it felt disjointed… 

_The general asked for you._

“The general asked for you.” 

Rey took a deep breath, clearly troubled by recent events. Was she also hearing these voices in her head? Was that the reason why she asked how much they heard? Or was she worried about that Jedi stuff?

Rose never thought too hard about the Force; it went beyond scientific understanding, and frankly, she never felt the need to wonder about the supernatural when she could barely imagine the natural world throughout most of her life back on Hays Minor. However, in this moment, with all these strange occurrences, maybe there was wisdom that her young Jedi friend could share.

“Does the Force have a voice?” Rose asked. To nobody. She frantically took in her surroundings. She was back at the repair station! The bustle had dwindled as half of her team went on break. Time had passed. How much? She had no idea.

Her hand began to tremble, and her breath quickened. Thick, humid air entered her lungs. She had no idea what was happening, but one thing was certain: she did not teleport. Clearly, she wanted to talk to Rey; she even asked her a question. She wouldn’t have initiated leaving so suddenly. This was something else.

“A puzzle,” Rose muttered to herself. “Just an unknown, another problem to solve like cracking First Order security shields. There’s nothing to fear.”

Her feet carried her to her quiet place: her private workbench. Here, among tools and dismantled droids, her team knew not to bother her or question when she started talking to herself. Talking. It helped to get her ideas out of her head, which she sorely needed right now.

“Nothing to fear,” she repeated. “Just another puzzle, another problem…”

Nothing to fear. Nope. Not scary. Just…

Kriff, she couldn’t lie to herself. She was freaked out of her wits. But she needed to stay calm and work this out. “I was at the repair station when the air felt thick. Not just thick, but everything seemed… louder, too much to handle, as if…”

Her senses were heightened. Rose surveyed her surroundings and noticed how different it felt. Not just the air, but her colour perception. Everything seemed extra vivid with a blueish tint. Very curious.

“I wanted to get away, take a walk. And that’s exactly what happened. In a blink, I was walking in the forest with Snap.”

Teleportation would have been such a logical answer, but… 

“That voice.”

It had governed her speech. It compelled her to say the words that rang at the forefront of her mind. Either she was going insane, or something supernatural was at play… 

“Mother kriffin’ stars!”

Could this be the Force? Was she… _force-sensitive?!_

Maybe this was the beginning of something. Maybe her life led up to this point. Maybe she would help turn the tide of the war; on top of all her engineering work, she could play a pivotal role as a hero in the big fight.

And maybe this was the reason why she survived until now. Why she made it out of Hays Minor. Why Cat died in her place. Why the only time she was separated from Paige, after all those missions together, the _one time…_

Rose touched her medallion. 

Oh, who was she kidding? She couldn’t delude herself anymore. She had grown much wiser since Paige died, and the past year had been humbling. One did not simply gain power out of thin (or thick) air. She was born under an unlucky star; she was not special. This couldn’t be the Force, there was just no way. Plus, she didn’t have enough data points to support her claim. She needed more information. First, she would research teleportation, and once that hypothesis was completely ruled out, she’d consult Rey and ask about this Force mumbo jumbo.

There was nothing to fear.

She turned to the heap of junk beside the dismantled BB9-E unit, and rifled through their recent spoils of First Order tech. Her hands landed on a standard datapad, one that she had tweaked but did not completely reformat. She hesitated. On one hand, she was confident with her tinkering, and the First Order signature would grant greater access, specifically to the latest developments on teleportation technology; on the other, there was always a doubt that she didn’t fully scramble the built-in locator. It could compromise their location once connected to the HoloNet. 

She took a chance.

Hooking up the datapad to an external console, she removed her gloves and let her bare fingers fly over the control pad as she furiously inputted commands. Wow. The amount of information was staggering. She refined her search, digging in deeper within the metadata, finding all sorts of delicious nuggets of tech news, but she maintained her focus and avoided distractions. 

Her hands began to cramp. And that’s when she found it. The perfect match. 

Teleportation, insanity, memory lapse, memory loss, time skip, voices, _am I force-sensitive—_ all these keywords were tagged in one file. It was like reading her mind!

She quickly pulled it up, but the page was…

“Kriffin’ blank!” Rose grunted and nearly shoved the datapad to the ground. But something caught her eye. There was additional encryption. 

It didn’t take her long to crack the code. Whoever set it up was clever but not a rarefied genius, much like herself. 

// If you are reading this, congratulations, you are worthy of attention. //

End of message. Rose spotted more encryption. She uncovered another.

// I see you are tenacious. //

And another…

// But the question remains: can you handle the truth? I think not. //

Code after code, she broke every single one. The messages barely registered in her mind; they seemed beside the point, always with a hint of condescension and utterly devoid of meaningful information. They taunted her, insulted her intelligence and her ability to handle whatever ‘truth’ they supposedly held. Whoever set this up was either pompous or careful, or both. But the more she cracked, the more she felt that they genuinely knew something. They were testing her. 

Until finally.

“An open link?” 

If she opened the comm line, the Resistance’s location could be jeopardized. She should shut this stupid thing off. Check her notes, ask her team about teleportation developments. Go find Rey, ask her about the Force. Finger hovering over the power down button, one little push and the risk would be terminated. But… she couldn’t do it. The itch of curiosity was too strong. 

**> >> [** Tell me the truth. What do you know? **]**

Her heart hammered in her chest, a million beats per minute, or so it felt. She couldn’t quite believe what she was doing. This person could be a sophisticated slicer posing as a cunning amateur, and if they worked for the First Order, the Resistance was doomed. Oh stars, what has she—

**\----** Impressive. **\----**

Rose stared at the screen and re-read that single word as she waited for them to elaborate. When they didn’t, she almost chewed them out with unsavory oaths. She suppressed the urge and settled with:

**> >> [** Quit stalling and tell me what you know. **]**

**\----** Patience must not be your forte. What else can you tell me about yourself? **\----**

**> >> [** I happen to be plenty patient, but not now. I might vanish, teleport, jump through time and space in the next second. Time seems to be working against me, so hurry up and spill it. This so-called truth, what is it? **]**

**\----** Fair enough. While I would prefer to further gauge your character, time is indeed our enemy— well, one of many of our enemies, as you will come to see. Now, read carefully and do fight that impulse for impatience. A tall order, I know. **\----**

Rose frowned, but read on.

**\----** To put it simply: destiny exists. And I’m not referring to that nonsense Force. I speak of predetermination, a role placed on each and every one of us in this galaxy, and like marionettes in a child’s play, we are enslaved by the hand of the Creators, or so I have come to call them. The Creators dictate our actions and speech. The voice you have surely heard in your mind? That is their will, the dialogue given to you. They have a plan, a written script, and we are nothing but characters acting out their story. **\----**

**> >> [** Crazy conspiracist. I can’t believe I put my hope into this. **]**

**\----** You don’t believe me? Fine. I can’t condemn a healthy dose of skepticism. **\----**

Rose had nothing more to say. This chase was a complete waste of time. Before she shut down the link, one last message came through.

**\----** The next time you hear the voice, break away and commit a drastic act in between the lines. Do it. And then you will realize that I am right. **\----**

She pressed the heel of her palms into her eye sockets, to block out the world, wishing for this nightmare to end. When she removed them, she was suddenly standing among her colleagues. Everyone was gathered around Poe Dameron. 

“Thanks to See-Threepio and Beaumont, we’ve decoded the intel from the First Order spy, and it confirms the worst.” Poe took a long pause as he regarded the crowd, then said, “Somehow, Palpatine has returned.”

A collective gasp and hushed worried murmurs. Everyone stood on edge, aside from Rose. She snorted. 

_Wait… do we believe this?_ They couldn’t possibly trust some spy who didn’t bother establishing rapport.

“Wait… do we believe this?” 

“We believe it,” Rey said.

Many people interjected— Aftab Ackbar, Beaumont— and then Poe continued his speech while Rose remained stuck in her own thoughts. Why was everyone readily taking this as fact? Palpatine’s return was as ridiculous as the notion of destiny. 

“…his fleet have been hiding…”

“He must have been behind the First Order…”

“Pulling the strings.”

“Always.”

Rose could sense that this meeting was serious, and that everyone was on board with this supposed truth, but she just could not get herself to care. 

_Is that all?_

“Is that all?” she asked.

“I wish it were,” C-3PO said. “But I’m afraid that the Emperor has been discovered by Kylo Ren. Now the two are on the verge of…”

That wasn’t what she implied. Yes, the voice in her head compelled her to say those words, but she really meant to say: was this farce over with? Would she blink and transport to yet another time or place? 

“…Only half our ships are working. We have no large-scale weapons,” Beaumont complained.

Beaumont. How dare he take a jab at her team. She raised her chin at him. 

_So we fix them. Fast._

“So we fix them. Fast.”

Leia stepped forward, drawing everyone’s attention with her magnetic presence. All eyes focused on their esteemed General, except for Rose who was frowning at Beaumont, extremely annoyed by his comment. She wanted to punch his stupid scholar face.

And so, she did just that. 

She channeled her frustration, turned to him, and hurled her fist with the full weight of her body. Knuckles colliding into his nose, his blood spurted and flecked her brown glove. Beaumont reeled, but she also stumbled from the impact. The _kriffin’_ pain! Nobody told her just how much it hurt to break someone’s nose. 

“Friends,” Leia announced, silencing the crowd. Even Rose could not ignore the General who appeared ethereal, almost like a spirit. She even momentarily forgot the pain in her hand. “This is the only moment that counts. Everything we’ve fought for is at stake.”

“If this fleet launches, freedom dies in the galaxy,” Beaumont piped in, not missing a beat.

Rose whipped around and her jaw nearly dropped. The blood had disappeared. He had a clean, unmarred face. Nothing. He was never punched. What in the— _no._

Rose shuddered. This… could not be true. 

Her panic now matched the fright of every single Resistance member hearing the news, but they had no idea what was _really_ happening. She clenched her throbbing hand, and found her fingers wrapped around a pilex driver. She was… in front of the Falcon. She needed to repair something… _the compressor, she needed to get it back online, and the sub-alternators needed to be fixed._ No, stupid Creators, that could and had to wait. What she really needed to do was contact that person. They were right. Or maybe she was going crazy. She needed to hear more, and then she’d decide her state of mental health.

Dropping the driver, she rushed to her workbench.

The fresh pain in her hand hindered some movement, but it did not slow her down. She re-connected the datapad to the console, and within less than a minute, she opened the encrypted comm line. 

**> >> [** What more do you know? **]**

_Please_ be online. She waited with bated breath, and then:

**\----** I assume you took my advice? **\----**

**> >> [** I punched a colleague in the face. A split second later, the blood disappeared, but my hand still hurts. **]**

**\----** Feisty. **\----**

**> >> [** I just acted on impulse. I felt an opening and took it. It made me think, I want to know, are there rules to this destiny? Are they controlling my actions right now? It doesn’t feel that way. **]**

**\----** Excellent, you are making progress. **\----**

**> >> [** For what? **]**

**\----** Self-awareness. Despite all your shortcomings, you are among the special few who have become self-aware. And no, the Creators are not currently dictating your actions. In fact, most of your actions do not matter because you are nothing to them. You are background. **\----**

Oh, that little ratfaced snot. After everything she has been through, her patience for his insults was wearing thin.

**> >> [** Speak for yourself! If you’re talking to me like this, you can’t be important. I bet you’re ranked even lower than a gutter, you’re a nobody with too much time to kill. You created this code labyrinth after all. **]**

**\----** I WAS DESTINED TO RULE THE GALAXY!!! **\----**

**> >> [** Nice aspiration. A+ for ambition. Pick a number, stay in line. Plenty of people would like that ticket from destiny. **]**

**\----** If those putrid Creators did not interfere, I would have blasted Ren in the throne room and rightfully taken my place as Supreme Leader. Do not speak as if my aspirations are forlorn. They were right within my grasp. **\----**

Ren, throne room, Supreme Leader? Hang on. Who was this guy?

**> >> [** Who are you? **]**

**\----** General Hux of the First Order! **\----**

Rose shut down the link. 

She wiped her hands against her pants, as if that would somehow make a difference; she was wearing gloves, and it was through a screen, but the contact felt dirty. She felt dirty. She pictured his greased-back thin ginger hair and that pasty sallow skin. She nearly gagged. Any interaction with that slimeball warranted a cleanse, or a distraction. 

To stop her mind from thinking about Hux, she returned to the Falcon to complete its tune-up. She started with the compressor, easily getting it back online; it required so little effort because she had grown accustomed to this ship. Same for the sub-alternator; she nearly completed the repair with her eyes closed. 

There, her job was complete. She deserved some rest, hit the shower to wash away the grease, along with the memory of General Hux… 

_Hux._ Before he revealed his name, she desperately sought his knowledge. His identity theoretically shouldn’t matter; she should hear what he had to say, especially after his information proved correct. The erasure of the Beaumont punch, it had nothing to do with teleportation or the Force. And Hux predicted it. He understood these strange occurrences, how this so-called destiny worked. 

He was a liar, a mouthpiece, a rambling madman. But if destiny existed, and if the Creators planned every detail of their lives… Did he have a choice? Was there ever a chance for him to be something else?

She didn’t know him personally. She shouldn’t judge. She hated the First Order after everything they did, but… did she really? If the destiny theory was true, then the real blame fell upon the Creators who designed all this terrible hardship and pain. The First Order were pawns, along with everyone in this galaxy. Nobody had a choice in any of this… 

Great, now she was sympathizing with the enemy. Her mind was truly a mess. She needed sleep. 

As she moved to take her leave, the environment altered once more; instead of walking away from the Falcon, she was walking towards it, towards Finn.

“Rose, last chance!” Finn hollered.

“For what?”

Finn did not respond, of course he didn’t, he wasn’t self-aware and she was acting off-script. She could punch him in the face, and it would all disappear in the next scene. None of her actions mattered. She would only be left with the pain in her hand, of which still throbbed after hitting Beaumont. 

Wait. Did she believe this? Was she accepting that there was a script that dictated her every action? That destiny and the Creators existed?

_The General asked me to study the specs of the old destroyers. So we can stop the fleet if you find them._

Rose paused and carefully listened to the voice. She considered the context. Finn was asking her to go with them. Had she declined? She thought hard, and suddenly, a memory appeared. It was a faint image and a muffled snippet of dialogue. She had declined him! But when did that conversation even take place? 

She had so many questions. And as much as she hated to admit, maybe Hux had the insight.

Finn stood there patiently, and she assumed he was waiting for her… line. The one from the voice. 

She never enjoyed missions, always found them scary, but she wanted to feel valued, to contribute, to be useful and be remembered. She was going to take this chance. If Palpatine was out there, this might be her _last_ chance to make a difference. And this would be her real, authentic, choice.

“The General asked me to study the specs of the old destroyers. So we can stop the fleet if you find them.” 

No, that was _not_ what she wanted to say!

“If?”

_When._ “When.”

Finn nodded. “When.”

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder as he walked away. From the sideline, she watched her friends exchange more goodbyes. Finn, Poe and Rey— the main trio— they looked heroic, while she stood there in the background, frustrated.

She had a will… but it did not match the one from the Creators. 

Rey was last to enter the Falcon, and then the team was off. Any time now, Rose would be propelled into a new space. She trudged her way to her workbench, and stared blankly at her organized mess. Why wasn’t this scene over? The heroes were clearly out there saving the galaxy… shouldn’t it just jump to the next scene?

Rose rubbed her temples, headache full-fledged. 

And how exactly did this all work? Could there be a way to fix her garbage situation, to make it a bit better, to let her _feel_ better?

There was only one way to find the answers to her questions. She set up the datapad. 

She didn’t trust him, but he was the only person she could consult. He had experience and knowledge. She opened the link and as she was imputing her question, a message appeared.

**\----** Ah, I see the little rat has decided to come crawling back. Hungry for a morsel, another taste of the truth? **\----**

Now that she was aware of General Hux, her stupid imagination could see and hear him in her mind. That sneer and grating tone. She gagged as she swallowed her pride and responded to him. 

**> >> [** I need to know the rules of this game. Is there any logic to any of this? **]**

**\----** I refuse to answer. First show some respect and apologize after rudely terminating the link. **\----**

Rose rolled her eyes. This was so dumb; _he_ was so dumb. Manners were inconsequential in the face of this existential crisis. They could disappear at any moment, and he was wasting her precious time.

**> >> [** Oh great General Hux of the First Order, please accept my humble apology for causing a great offense such as interrupting your speech and cutting the link in your handsome face! I’ll grovel on my knees, caress your feet and lick your boots, as I repeatedly whisper, I am sorry. **]**

She sent the message and chuckled. That sarcasm was palpable. He’d be an idiot to think that she was—

**\----** Apology accepted. **\----**

—genuine. 

**\----** Now tell me your name. **\----**

She hesitated. It felt weird to reveal personal information, not that it would compromise anything for the Resistance. Her name meant nothing to him. They only met once, and he had barely spared her a glance. He’d been too busy backhand slapping Finn in the face, and then reveling in DJ’s betrayal.

Betrayal. Would Hux betray her if he knew she was with the Resistance? Then again, betrayal was only possible by breaking one’s trust. She was going to have to start trusting this man first.

**> >> [** Rose Tico. **]**

**\----** Very well, Tico. First rule. You must fulfill your role. If you resist, you will be compelled into action and or speech. There are no dire consequences, only a tiresome headache if you resist too long. **\----**

She recognized that, as her head felt like exploding. 

**> >> [** How are we able to talk like this? I don’t feel any pull or hear any voices, and yet, I must be acting in some sort of scene. **]**

**\----** Even in the background, you have a role. Since the Creators care little about the actions of their trivial characters, they impose a general role, and you have the freedom to move within those constraints. The sharper you become with your self-awareness, the more time you realize that you have. The more you remember. Being self-aware slows down time, so to speak. **\----**

**> >> [** So what you’re saying is… there’s a life outside the will of the Creators? **]**

**\----** Not quite a life. But yes, there is some freedom of movement. **\----**

**> >> [** How long have you been self-aware? **]**

**\----** Difficult to succinctly explain, as I have relived several scenes. **\----**

Rose felt a buzz of excitement. She wanted to hear his full story. Like a puzzle, she needed all the pieces to complete the picture. Maybe there was a way to accomplish the things she desired, to live freely within the parameters.

**> >> [** Hux, I want to hear it all, but we might get cut off again. I have an idea on how to avoid it. **]**

**\----** Go on. **\----**

**> >> [** You said that we all have a role in the background. I think mine is to study old Star Destroyer specs. In a way, my scene doesn’t end until I have accomplished that, right? **]**

**\----** Yes. **\----**

**> >> [** Then, as long as I’m studying those specs, I can do what I want. I can even leave and fly across the stars. **]**

**\----** No, you can’t leave your location until you’ve accomplished your assigned task. Generally, you try to complete whatever nonsense as quick as possible, then, use the remainder time to do as you fancy. **\----**

**> >> [** No hear me out. What if _leaving_ helps me accomplish my task? I can leave because my role is to discover more about old destroyers, and what better way than to go through First Order records! **]**

**\----** Tico, what are you implying? **\----**

**> >> [** Let’s talk in person. It’s faster and I have so many questions to ask. **]**

**\----** If you are implying that we meet somewhere, I have never successfully left my post for any meaningful amount of time. I’ve tried to leave, but I was clipped moments after departure. You must understand that I also have a role to fulfill. **\----**

**> >> [** Hyperspace! A trip in hyperspace can feel longer than that of realspace. Time perception is distorted. We only need a couple of seconds of realspace, to buy us an hour or whatever in hyperspace. **]**

She didn’t like tainting the memory of the safe blue hyperspace journeys she shared with Paige, but this plan could work. 

**> >> [** Let’s pick some coordinates far off— doesn’t matter where if we’re just gonna get pulled back to the next scene afterwards. Before you board your ship, give an excuse, the motivation behind what you’re supposed to be doing. What’s your role anyway? **]**

There was a pause before the reply floated on screen. 

**\----** I am scheming. **\----**

**> >> [** Of course you are. **]**

His next pause was even longer. She wondered if it was possible that his scene got cut, while hers continued.

**> >> [** Hux, are you still there? **]**

**\----** ....................... **\----**

**\----** I’m the Resistance spy. **\----**

"WHAT?" Rose shouted.

What the heck was this arrogant General, who lived, breathed and spewed the First Order… doing as a _spy??_ From the return of Palpatine to this, what was next? She didn’t want to imagine. 

**> >> [** I’ll spare you from my opinion of the Creators. I don't feel like being scolded for my potty mouth. **]**

**\----** I return the sentiment. **\----**

**> >> [** Anyway, your role works to our advantage. You’re flying out, to gather intel, to give _me_ intel because, well I didn’t admit this before, but I’m with the Resistance. **]**

**\----** I know. **\----**

**> >> [** What? How? **]**

**\----** I know everything. **\----**

**> >> [** Well good for you. Now take a First Order ship, alone, with access to your archive. We’ll rendezvous at a neutral station. I’ll send the coordinates when I’m ready to jump. **]**

**\----** You’re insane. **\----**

Rose laughed out loud. Before she could type a response, he wrote again. 

**\----** I like it. **\----**

It had been a while since she heard that word in conjunction with herself. She smiled.

**> >> [** Okay, deal? I’m cutting off now. See you… soon. **]**

Before terminating the link, he slipped in one more response. 

**\----** Promise you won’t bite when you see me. **\----**

What a strange comment for someone who didn’t know her. Well, she did admit punching a colleague, and Hux was a careful man. And if she hit him, he’d feel it and actually remember the pain. In fact, that made the prospect quite tempting. 

She would decide when the time came. For now, she needed to get to him before the scene shifted.

She rushed down to the repair station, and just for added measure, she quickly delegated commands to her team— the next list of repairs, the problematic fixes. By covering all her bases, there would be no interruptions. 

Then, she approached the fully serviced Z-95 headhunter. 

“I’m gonna test pilot this ship,” she announced, loud and clear. Nobody questioned her authority, but as an added measure, she declared her reasoning. “We are short on pilots, and this starship needs to be tested before battle. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll spot the problem.” 

She wasn’t the best pilot, but she did have her license. And Paige would disown her if she still couldn’t fly this old model. She grabbed one of her astromech droids, and slipped the iconic bright orange flightsuit over her comparatively thin Resistance attire. She equipped herself with all protective gear—life support unit, harnesses, gauntlets, helmet— and jumped into the cockpit.

This was insane. _She_ was insane. 

A Resistance tech gone rogue, meeting a First Order General, apparently also gone rogue.

As she initiated takeoff and sent the coordinates to Hux’s encrypted code, she took one deep breath of recycled air in the small cockpit. It was light and filled her lungs smoothly.

Artificial, but she felt real. And more alive than ever before.

** 


	3. II.

  


  


Flightsuits were not designed for running, and nor was she. 

Rose ran as fast as her short legs could take her, from Z95 headhunter to black Upsilon-class command shuttle that just landed— admittedly, a weird choice for a ride. A ship like that wasn’t designed for long-haul hyperspace travel, but this was Hux, mastermind of Starkiller base and hyperspace tracking; she didn’t trust him, but she begrudgingly trusted his tech. 

Self-awareness made everything harder: breathing, movement, body temperature regulation. She could have sworn there was a time, or at least felt there was one, in which she ran with the speed and confidence of a fathier on a racetrack. Did her lack of awareness completely alter her perception? All those times escaping the First Order, had she really been dragging her ass with all the grace and ardor of a sweating, heaving happabore? She’d never know. All she knew was that right now, she certainly felt and probably looked like one. And if those stupid Creators pulled her back to base to deliver useless lines with Snap, she’d wail like one too.

The shuttle ramp descended along with his figure, striking, all dark and clean lines like the folded wings of the impressive ship; the type of thing that one should be running away from, not… letting it get taller as she closed the distance, one wheeze at a time.

She got closer and closer. Until, his pale eyes were recognizably flecked with green. Until, she could tell that even his lashes were ginger. Until, her nose caught the scent of something unfamiliar laced with that unforgettable First Order laundry detergent. Until, she had to considerably lift her chin, almost at full stretch, to maintain eye contact… 

Not that she bothered. 

She brushed past him, aiming straight into his ship.

 _“You!”_ His grating voice rang from behind, bouncing off the durasteel walls of the small craft as her awkward gauntlet-clad fingers smashed the button door leading to the cockpit. It slid open with a hiss and then closed in Hux’s face, she assumed, because for a split-second she didn’t have to hear his whine.

The screeching resumed almost immediately, all background noise that she tuned out, as her attention remained focused on the pilot— a massive, scary, First Order security droid.

“Set course to -193.124, -632.573 by hyperdrive!” she commanded. The hulking thing’s red eyes didn’t even flash in acknowledgement. She had no clue how it was programmed, to get it to listen. 

“—you Resistance lot with that unkempt, uncouth, utter lack of hierarchy—"

“Dammit Hux, tell the droid to punch it to the Western reaches, coordinates -193.124, -632.573. We need to get outta here and into hyperspace _now!”_

He repeated the command, pronouncing her words with that irrrrrritating Imperial accent, and the droid buzzed to life. She stumbled back as the ship jerked, sending them into the bright blue whirl of hyperspace.

Her laboured breaths punctuated the silence of the unbearably stuffy cockpit. It was a small space, he was uptight, she was sweaty. And that droid was unsettling, much like its master. She took her leave without sparing either a glance.

Hux followed her out with that non-stop whine, while she stripped off her gear and dropped them to the floor in a trail that lead to the passenger seats lining the wall. She eagerly shed herself from the cumbersome suit. All that running and then grinding to a sudden halt made her head a little dizzy. She could barely register his words, even if she wanted to. 

Suit discarded, her body still burned with heat. She unsnapped a couple more buttons of her shirt and flapped the collar to let in some air, to get the fabric to stop sticking to her skin. Kriff, self-awareness was tiresome. She envied the ignorant idiots back at base who, despite the humidity of Ajan Kloss, probably never truly felt this uncomfortable.

She sank into a seat, and immediately noted the differences. She had studied the schematics of Upsilon-class ships before. Each seat should have had their own safety belt, with some spacing in between to accommodate the troopers’ artillery. The cushioning should have been 37 centimeters less wide and around 15 percent more firm. It was almost as if they were outfitted to lie down for comfort, for leisure, for pleasu—no, _gross,_ was this Hux’s play ship? A place where he brought back people to…. 

She screwed her eyes shut. Some questions were best left unanswered.

Her breathing and heartrate eventually settled, and she opened her eyes to find _him_ staring at her. She almost forgot that he was here in the flesh; he was oddly quiet ever since she discarded the suit. 

He really was an unsettling man, just like that droid. But when he wasn’t screaming, there was something almost soft about him. Sure, his face was angular—tall nose, strong cheekbones and jawline— but there were also delicate features in the mix. Maybe it was the lips, or the ginger long lashes, or easily reddened skin. Or maybe…

“Did you cut your hair?” she asked.

“What?”

“You look different. I think it could be the hair. It’s not as long or matted down, or greasy.” 

“ _Greasy?!_ It would never be— who are _you_ to speak, to _presume_ —"

“Oh, forget it.” She waved him off. “Anyway, let’s jump right into it. When did you start becoming self-aware? How long has it been?”

“I already stated this in the comm, but I suppose one cannot expect diligence from you Resistance lot. I cannot tell for certain. Time is not linear and the events repeated two times over.”

“It doesn’t have to be so precise! Just tell me whatever you remember, in whatever order, and I’ll piece it all together.”

His face scrunched up in displeasure, or maybe that was just how he looked when complying to a request. Rose braced herself for his unnecessary, flowery language that would surely decorate the events, and let them play out like a memory of her own.

General Hux valued efficiency, one among many of the First Order’s noble characteristics which he possessed, that he did. However, with the tedious attrition meeting its inevitably favorable end, along with the impending obliteration of the rebel fleet, he had much to rejoice. While he would not ordinarily spare a single thought, a fleeting glance, at a nobody from a benighted star system such as Otomok, he was in good humour. Teaching rebel scum their place in this galaxy, where they lay and where he stood, was a duty most effectively carried out by an important general such as himself. Generous, he knew he was being with his time, but this particular wild little runt with her unruly hair and snarling face deserved to be graced by his presence, by his personal touch of discipline. His desire to rouse her fury did not strike him as abnormal— it was intended. There was nothing peculiar about ordering his trooper to back off and give space for just the two of them, to seize her full attention. Nor did he question his desire to touch her, to gently place her necklace over her head, to lift her chin so that she looked at him, and only him. 

“This is getting weird, Hux.”

Subjugation. The fury in her eyes, oh, he liked it. But it did not last long, as the little runt—

“I _bit you?_ You’re lying, right?”

“Silence! Let me finish.”

He ordered their execution and returned to the bridge, two perfectly mundane actions. The pain however lingered, as did thoughts of the insolent woman. He kept calm in front of his subordinates, but the sensation of her teeth digging into his finger, the heat of her salivating mouth, they never left him. Even on Crait, after he was forcefully thrust into a wall and momentarily lost consciousness, he awoke with a splitting headache and the dull ache in his finger. Perhaps, she carried disease which would explain the incessant pain. Once he returned to the Finalizer, he would seek medical attention, and right this wrong. Only, he never reached the medbay. They had returned to D’Qar, where the rebels were scrambling with their evacuation!

“You went back in time?”

“Yes, the sheer horror. I repeated that nonsense, that drudgery aboard the Finalizer and the Supremacy— slammed on the deck, humiliated, choked, thrown into a wall, all the pain, I experienced it twice fold!”

How curious. She was no stranger to leaping through time and space, but her experience was always linear. 

“So, the whole chain of events, you just repeated the exact same thing two times over? Was there anything that changed?” He averted his gaze and she noticed the tip of his ears go red. “What’s wrong?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Our… _interaction_ had the most variance. While other events unfolded in identical fashion, our only shared scene changed every time.”

“Kriff, I don’t remember biting you, at all.”

“The sequence began with the siege of D’Qar and ended with the battle of Crait. I gained self-awareness after the bite, in what I presume was the first round. The second time, I demanded your name. You looked at me strangely and told me.”

“I gave you my name? Why don’t I remember any of this?”

“Because you were not self-aware! And you did not bite me that second time. Curiously, we held no verbal interaction. The final round, however, remains the most absurd. Throughout the sequence, I was plagued with internal thoughts, introspection that I did not feel was entirely my own. And at times, there was another voice who spoke to me.”

“The Creators?”

“No.” He stared at Rose with those intense, unsettling pale green eyes. “You.”

_“Me?”_

“A truly strange occurrence. We seemed to share similar lines of dialogue. In one instance, I began rehearsing my speech about hyperspace tracking, as I often practice before my audience with Supreme Leader Snoke, when _your_ voice overtook the contents of my mind.”

This was getting freaky. Was she tied to Hux somehow?

“And then—”

“There’s more?!” Rose shouted.

“In our first encounter, I had placed the medallion over your head, gently lifted your chin, and you bit my finger. The second time, we held no interaction, but I spoke to you in between the lines to ask for your name. The third, I— well, never mind.”

“Oh c’mon, Hux. I want to hear everything.”

His astute perception and great attention to detail was at times a burden, as his eyes were immediately drawn to that distracting neck. The collar of her stolen uniform, fastened slightly askew and worthy of several demerits had she been a real officer, revealed more golden skin than necessary. That fraction of a centimeter was not only beyond regulation, it was improper social etiquette— no woman should show that much smooth, soft-looking flesh. How vulgar, how _unsightly_. A First Order uniform should not be treated in this manner; it should never be worn by an ill-bred creature who transformed its beautiful clean lines into hugging, offensive curvature. He wanted to press into those curves to straighten them, or strip the revered cloth off that voluptuous form altogether— he contained both urges. Instead, he took off a glove and grabbed… 

“Okay, I take it back. This is getting too weird.”

“Suffice to say, I spotted the medallion peeking out the collar of your stolen uniform. I grabbed your face and you bit my hand— not the finger, mind you, but the meat of my palm. You little devil, you drew blood and left a halfmoon of punctures which turned into a scar!”

Hux removed his glove and showed Rose his hand. She took it, staring incredulously at the dots of darker skin that marred the side of his palm. “Those are from my teeth?”

“Please do not check to see if they match. I’d rather not live through it a third time.”

She touched the scar, fascinated by the physical proof of his story. She continued absentmindedly rubbing the pale soft skin when he abruptly pulled away, and quickly slipped his glove back on. “What’s your theory on the scar?” she asked.

“Injuries incurred in between the lines will leave no trace, only pain. In this case, the bite resulted in a scar because it was the will of the Creators. You punctured my palm and drew blood— you even spat it out after having a taste.”

Oh this was definitely weird, to have done something and not remember. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry for biting you, twice.”

“Never mind the apology. The Creators dictated your action.”

“What happened after Crait, after you stopped going back in time?”

“Tico, I am not recounting my every action from the past year.”

“What have you been doing with your self-awareness? I wanna know the possibilities!”

“Oh, I’ve killed Ren several times. Rigged his TIE. Cut off his air supply. Poisoned his meals. A banal endeavor that grew tiresome when he persistently sprung from the dead. Without a tangible result, the effort was pointless.”

“That’s not what I meant about possibilities!”

“I have also blown up star systems, again without any lasting effects. My weapons development and resource mining however remain productive and consistent— likely due to the intent of the Creators. My role, I believe, is to nurture the First Order’s technological prowess and support military industries.” 

“Even with self-awareness, you continue doing evil.”

“Evil? I just explained, it is my role!”

“So you’re just gonna follow orders from above? Kriff, here I thought that you did all that horrible stuff because the Creators willed it. I thought you’d change when you realized that you had a choice. I was wrong.”

“I might change.”

“Really?”

“I’m the Resistance spy.”

“Not out of your own volition! Kriff, you’re just so obedient, aren’t you? Like a little tamed pup.”

“ _You!_ How many times must I repeat myself: we do not have any choice in the matter! Yes, we are granted some freedom of movement— I have managed quite a successful R&D lab, everything considered— but there is no point, no lauded results that could affect the galaxy. Our existence is meaningless.”

“There’s value to the process, and to the intention. Life isn’t a series of goals. It’s about the journey in-between.”

“Therein lies the difference between you and I, between the Resistance and the First Order. Process and intentions carry higher value, you claim? Mark my word, you will crave results when you are dragged through the dirt, fought tooth and nail to maintain your standing, and suffered the amount of pain I have endured. Between life and death, which do you chose? There is no in-between. We cannot escape the facts. You will never get back your planet, or whatever vermin perished in the fire.”

Rose growled. How _dare_ he call Paige vermin! She pounced and went straight for his hair. 

No way was she going to throw a punch that would hurt her hand; the bastard wasn’t worth the pain. Grabbing fistfuls of his ginger mop, she wrestled his flailing body to the ground where she sat on his chest, and bit his ear, hard. He thrashed and screamed, and maybe even pleaded to let him go, but she was so overcome with anger that she held on tight.

Until, something so fine and sharp pierced into her back. Her jaw released its hold from his ear, as she let out a deafening cry. She rolled off him and stood up in shock.

He was holding a strange blade, now glistening in red. Then she registered the sticky, uncomfortable slick of blood dripping down her lower back. There was also the metallic tang in her mouth, from _his_ blood. And his red hair between her fingers, between bloodied fingernails… She stared at him, at his ear which was also a red bloody mess. Kriff, what did she do? 

“Is there a medpac on this ship?” she asked.

He nodded and got up to retrieve it. She followed closely behind, watching him pop open a hidden compartment in the wall. He opened the pac, and began setting up the pressurized cannister of what she assumed was bacta spray. His dexterous fingers, even gloved, wielded the cannister parts with practiced ease. He probably handled it a million times. 

Except it didn’t seem to work. Either the product or pressure was depleted, from disuse or from too much usage— probably the latter, due to all his implied abuse. He cursed loudly and threw it against the wall.

“Here I thought _I_ should watch my language.” He shot her a dirty look, but there was no fire in his eyes. He was tired, and so was she. “Is there any plain ol’ bacta gel in there?”

He began removing his gloves. “Turn around,” he said.

“Why?”

“I need to access your wound.”

She shrugged and complied. Then, the sound of ripping fabric echoed into the space. Her shirt flopped open, and the cold recycled air hit her skin. 

“What the _heck,_ Hux? A little notice would be nice! What did you cut me with?”

“A monomolecular blade.”

She removed her arms from the sleeves of her torn shirt, and studied the fine job the blade had done. Quite amazing, she had to admit. The tear was so clean. She didn’t want to think about what her back must have looked like, if her soaked red shirt was any indication. Thankfully, Hux wasn’t squeamish. He probably had seen much worse in his lifetime.

“This will sting.” 

She yelped, as a damp and unwelcome cloth of antiseptic was pressed onto the sensitive skin of her back. 

“Hold still!”

“PRretty hard to—aaaaahh!” Rose bit her tongue to stop the high-pitch yelp from escaping her mouth. She couldn’t stop the flinching though. He grabbed her side to steady her body while he gently spread the bacta gel over the cut. His bare hands were warm and oddly soft, almost caring. Not mechanical and droid-like as she assumed. He finished up by wrapping a dressing over the wound and around her waist. 

She sighed in relief when his hands left her back. But she tensed up again. A thumb was on her nape, rubbing small circles, causing her to shiver. Strangers should never touch her there, not with bare gentle fingers.

“Missed a spot of blood.”

Oh, right, the blood probably splattered everywhere. She eased into his touch as he cleaned off the remaining stain.

Rose was at a loss for words. She had started the physical altercation, so she should apologize, but he threw the insult first and nearly sliced her back open. Maybe they should just ignore this ordeal altogether, pretend it never happened. She turned around to face him, but was met with quite the pitiful sight. 

Hux was trying, and failing, to properly clean and apply the bacta gel over his maimed ear and scalp. While he was gentle and precise with her, he was quite clumsy and rough with himself.

“Let me do it.”

His eyes flitted briefly in her direction, then concentrated on the floor. Surprisingly, he didn’t refuse. He simply bent down on one knee, his gangly limbs folding and greatcoat fanning onto the ground. She cleaned his ear with the same antiseptic he had used on her, and he did not wince. Was he trained to stand still, even when pained? Kriff, she hated the First Order, or the Creators, or both. Definitely both. She carefully applied the bacta gel, then moved through his scalp to massage it into the irritated spots. Her fingers raked through ginger strands to access the broken skin. Such fine, soft hair, like porg feathers.

His downturned mouth also looked like a porg. A wounded animal, not an evil general from the organization she despised.

“Sorry,” she said on instinct. “Violence doesn’t solve anything. I need to practice what I preach.”

He still did not look in her direction, those downcast eyes firmly focused on black tiles. Maybe this whole ordeal triggered some unpleasant memories. He was self-aware. He would remember everything.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

“What?”

“Tico, do not make me repeat myself. You heard me just fine.”

This man was such a weirdo. She rolled her eyes and did as told. 

Almost immediately, her nostrils flared. She was overwhelmed by that distinct First Order laundry scent, along with that other something she couldn’t quite place yet. A heavy cloth was draped over her shoulders. A coat. _His_ coat. It was warm, a little too warm to slide her arms through the sleeves, so she held it closed with the clutch of the lapel. Now covered, she realized that she had been topless this entire time. Her cheeks grew hot.

“Thanks Hux.” 

“I apologize. For almost killing you.”

“I wouldn’t have actually died.” 

“You could have, if your prior scene was your last. Don’t be reckless.”

The faint hum of the ship filled their subsequent silence. She felt flush, probably from the gaberwool that insulated her body heat and lingered with his. But she couldn’t shed it off, not when they were both aware of her state of undress.

“Listen, Hux. Let’s put the past behind us and move forward. Let’s try to… get along. There’s so much more I want to learn, and I feel like every second I’m not learning something new is wasted. I’ve only been aware for— I dunno, time is weird. It’s probably been a couple of hours at most, but it feels like days. I’m so tired and everything hurts.”

“It hurts because you have been resisting. When you obey their command, when you stop thinking, time will pass smoothly, faster, easier.”

“Then I guess I’ll live with the pain. I’m not backing down. I’m going to resist the Creators and figure out a way to change destiny.”

“Don’t be naïve. The pain from resistance may be bearable at this early stage, but when you have lived as long as I have, you will come to understand the full extent of its cumulative, tiresome effect. You will only want the pain to end.”

The ship rumbled as they were likely pulled out of hyperspace. Only then did he finally meet her gaze. His pale eyes reminded her of daylight sky flecked with green leaves from the forest canopy of Ajan Kloss. While the image usually inspired hope, his eyes appeared exhausted, much like General Leia’s which now stared back at her. 

“Everyone who can hold a wrench or pilex driver is repairing and upgrading ships. We’re working as fast as we can,” Rose said without hesitation.

Leia nodded and Snap entered. Again, _Snap._

“General, we’re getting reports of a raid at the Festival of Ancestors.”

“This mission is everything. It cannot fail. Any word from Rey?”

“The Falcon’s not responding.”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Rose followed her intuition, without the voice.

“Like…what?”

“Do me a personal favor. Be optimistic.”

“Yes, ma’am. This is… this is terrific. You’re not gonna believe how well… This is gonna turn out.”

“Major Wexley, requiring optimism doesn’t mean hiding the truth.”

“Yeah, what aren’t you telling us?” Rose asked, again without resistance.

“The raid at the Festival…General Leia…Our eyes on the ground say it’s the Knights of Ren.”

The invisible string lifted, and she rushed out, heading straight to her workbench. What an entirely useless conversation. She wouldn’t dwell on its content, it wasn’t worth the mental energy, but she now knew how quickly time passed when she did not resist the scene. Her head also felt lighter, and her breathing, steady.

She reconnected the First Order datapad to her console. 

**> >> [** Get on a ship! We’re meeting again. **]**

 **\----** I can’t. The pull to stay aboard the Steadfast is strong. I can sense impending activity. **\----**

 **> >> [** Then I’m coming to you. Give me the Steadfast’s coordinates and I’ll jump. **]**

 **\----** Don’t be foolish. You’ll get yourself killed and suffer unnecessary pain. **\----**

 **> >> [** I won’t. **]**

 **\----** Again, you cannot win against the facts. One cannot simply hope the pain away. **\----**

 **> >> [** I mean, I won’t get killed. **]**

 **\----** You intend on jumping into enemy territory, a Resistance starfighter, without clearance amidst the hostile environment of war. Pryde is not forgiving. He will blast you on spot and you will fall into the great abyss, as your ship explodes into pieces finer than stardust. Only the arms of death await you. **\----**

 **> >> [** That’s not gonna happen. **]**

 **\----** Why are you so confident? **\----**

 **> >> [** Because you’ll catch me. **]**

She cut the comm.

Her short legs ran as fast as she could, down to the repair station where she found the Z-95 headhunter conveniently back in its spot. As she suited up and repeated her commands to her team, once more explaining her reasoning for piloting the ship, she thought about Hux.

She didn’t trust him, but she trusted his drive. With his authority likely undermined by Pryde, there was no guarantee that he could indeed ensure her safety. But she believed that he’d find a way. 

He’ll catch her before she fell into the hands of the real enemy.

  


  


  


  



End file.
